


Matches

by Keidence



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: A little bit of angsty in my life, A little bit of dating makes me your man aaaAAAAAAHHH, A little bit of fluffy by my side, A little bit of murder is all I need, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dating, F/M, Fluff, I'm not sure how descriptive the violence will end up being but it's John Wick so what do you expect, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prequel, The Impossible Task, The author's idea of how John and Helen met and got together, This idea wouldn't leave me alone so here it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-09-26 21:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keidence/pseuds/Keidence
Summary: John's not just an assassin. He's the best. The Baba Yaga. Those skills and fame come with a price, usually in the form of guilt and loneliness. He's found a place where he fits in, where he's comfortable. But he's not sure if he belongs there. Helen is a photographer. By default, she watches people closely. She waits and watches and catches those moments that tell so much about a person. A picture is worth a thousand words, after all. Many of them unsaid.They like each other.Things are shifting in New York, throwing around all who live there. When John finally finds a place he wants to be, he will do whatever it takes to see himself through to the other side. Even the impossible.





	1. Chapter 1

The sound that echoed out of the alley was unmistakable for some. Ordinary passers-by were able to tell themselves that it was a stray animal or some idiot kids trying to play a bad prank. But that was only because they had never seen the source of the sound. Those in the know, those that were part of that underground and worked within it, around it, for it. They were the ones who treated the sound with the respect it deserved. They scurried away quickly and thanked whatever deities there were that it wasn’t any of their business. There would be whispers in the morning. New numbers to add to the old ones, higher and higher. New stories to tell, grander and greater than the last, growing to unbelieveable proportions. But no one with half a brain wanted to try and prove them wrong. No one who valued their existence wanted to be part of his legend.

Cleaning his knife, the Baba Yaga left the silenced guard in the shadows and stepped through a door.

It would be a quick job if everything was as simple as the entry, John thought. Hoped, more accurately. Viggo had never given him easy jobs before. Why would he? That wasn't what he was known for. Just once though, it would be nice to not have to walk in and add a three to his kill count before he had even taken as many steps. They were prepared, of course. It was known that few angered the Tarasov family without any sort of retribution. Fewer still betrayed him and lived happy lives after. This man in particular, Volya Kostin, had started to develop an ego too large for the comparatively miniscule amount of power he had under Viggo. He thought that he could be more than him one day. So John was sent to ‘make an example’ of him.

Two more men rounded the corner, likely attracted by the sounds of the previous fight. The first went down clean, one bullet. The second managed to get away with only a shot in the arm, scrambling away like some old cartoon. His screams would alert the rest of the little safehouse which wasn’t ideal, but John was nothing if not adaptable. Besides, he had already rigged their three escape vehicles with incendiary explosives. No one was going anywhere that he didn’t send them.

Four more went down, including the man with the wounded arm. John paused to reload, raising his eyebrows as Volya’s furious shouting reached his ears. He counted six sets of footsteps heading his way and three in the opposite direction. Volya sounded like he was part of the trio rushing to the garage. Again, less than ideal. He was told to make an example of these men. To remind those with thoughts of rebellion and disloyalty that they worked _ for _ Viggo and not with him. Maybe others could do so but John always found it a little harder to send a message with a charred husk that would be Volya if he didn’t get to him soon.

He reached for the detonator in his pocket but switched to a knife when one of the six men shot through the surprisingly thin wall he was leaning on. Two came around the corner, guns drawn and pointed, and John charged. They collided and fell in a mess of limbs and well-fitted suits. John’s knife found an artery and his bullet found a brain. The man who had shot before fired again. He grazed John’s leg, aim interrupted by the knife suddenly sticking out of his thigh, life interrupted by the next shot that was fired. The other two men he had heard were blessed with enough foresight to hang further back but not enough to pick a different line of work that would have allowed them to live out their lives to the fullest. Instead they died like so many others, John's impassive face the last thing they saw. He tried not to think about it too much. It was a source of income. Didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

He made it to the garage as the cars were starting up. Volya had an impressive set of vocal chords on him as John could clearly hear his swearing from the car in the middle. With a practiced flourish, he flicked open the detonator and set fire to the other two cars. Volya's swearing turned to panicked screaming, which turned to a desperate order to 'get out there and kill that bastard.' Three men exited the car. John caught a glimpse of Volya struggling into the driver's seat just before the first guard entered the range of his fist.

He took the second to the ground, double-tapped him and the third, and bashed in the skull of the first guy when he realized he was out of bullets. The remaining car’s tires screeched as they gripped the floor. It lurched back, heading straight for John. He abandoned his attempt to stand and rolled to the side, narrowly keeping his arm. Volya swung open the door, gun in hand. He didn’t even get to fire a shot as John immediately kicked the door closed again with a particularly sickening crunch. He scooped up the dropped gun and opened the door again.

Volya didn't look as old as Viggo, but was definitely mature enough to know that his plan was incredibly risky. Overthrowing one of the strongest crime families in New York? It was odd for a man of his age to try it. One didn’t get old in the underground if they gambled too much. He was clutching his broken hand and looking at John with a familiar fear in his eyes. The eyes of a man who was dead and knew it.

“So you’re Viggo’s favourite killer, huh?”

John watched him.

“You tell that motherfucker— ”

John pulled him out of the car and threw him on the ground.

Make an example, Viggo had said. Fancy code for torture, John had thought. It had been a long night though. He wasn’t really in the mood. Truth be told, he was never in the mood. A bad trait for a hitman maybe, but there were days when John felt that part of him was the last little bit of humanity he had left trying to keep itself alive inside him. A weakness. A light.

Volya opened his mouth again but shuddered and collapsed. One clean shot to his head. No suffering. Viggo wouldn’t say anything. He never did before.

Besides, what could he do? He was the fucking Baba Yaga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And away we go.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the early hour and slightly chilly air, Central Park was fairly busy. Busy enough that Helen was having trouble getting a proper picture of the fountain because people kept walking in front of her and ruining her perfect shot. She was one more botched picture away from throwing her camera at the next person who walked by. Of course, that would require buying a new one and they tended to be on the expensive side. So she made herself content with cursing under her breath. Not the same, but much cheaper in the long run.

She took a step back. Then another. Then another, until she was on the verge of falling into the water. She brought her camera up, steadily and smoothly, like the _ professional _ photographer that she was. Professionals didn’t give up. They didn’t get mad every time some jackass walked in front of their shot or stood in an area that ruined the balance of the picture. They just didn’t.

Another person walked in front of her.

“Really?”

Enough was enough. Clearly, the photography gods had decided that she wasn’t getting her perfect picture that day. Bending to the whims of the unknown powers, she started to walk around the fountain, away from the water. Maybe she could spot something interesting from the terrace, higher up. In truth there was always something interesting to photograph if one looked for it. She had just had her heart set on the fountain.

Halfway up the steps to the terrace she turned around and pressed her face to the camera, looking for something interesting. Something that stood out. Something that didn’t quite belong and was captivating for it.

A man in a dark sweater limping towards the fountain, staring at his phone as he moved. Not unusual.

A young couple holding hands, bright and happy despite the early hour. She snapped a picture of them. Maybe she would offer it to them later as a memory.

An older man cuddling with his puppy. Nice, but a common sight.

She sighed, lowering her camera. Maybe she should just people watch.

Her eyes drifted back to the man with the limp. He had a dark look about him. It went with his dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes. But when he raised his head and met her gaze there was no darkness there. No light either. Like he was empty inside or trying very hard to appear that way. She offered him a small smile and got a slight nod for her efforts. He returned to staring at his hands. He was attractive, in the way that a shattered mirror is pretty.

Slowly, like she was watching a wild animal, she raised her camera again. With a click she captured him. It wasn’t an awful picture. It could be better if she got closer but he seemed to be having a private moment within himself and she didn’t want to interrupt. Those were the best times to get a picture. No matter how stone-faced someone was, a picture could reveal a thousand thoughts that they might not even realize were on their face.

The dark man looked lost. Lonely. Lifeless.

When Helen raised her eyes from the photo with a great effort she saw the man had a friend with him. Or at least someone he knew. There didn’t seem to be much love between them. The new man was older, with greying hair and a ridiculously expensive looking suit. The dark man looked like a bum in comparison. He sat stoically, occasionally glancing at the expensive man as he waved his hands about in wild gesticulations. It was hard to tell if he was excited or angry and the complete lack of reaction from the dark man gave her no clues either.

A buzz in her pocket startled her out of her staring. An alarm, reminding her that she had a client coming in to her studio that day and needed to get everything set up. Especially because this customer was particularly choosy. Picky. ‘Bitchy’ was the word she wanted to think but didn’t allow herself to.

With one last glance at the two men, she set off to where she parked her car.

* * *

The temptation to zone out was intense. Nearly impossible to ignore and John did the impossible pretty much every day. Viggo was on another of his brainstorming sessions that involved him talking far too much and far too loud for the subject matter. He would worry about someone calling the police if there were any reason to worry about the police being called.

"Maybe you can provide some insight here, John." He looked over at the sound of his name. “Why would Volya try this?” Viggo was red in the face now. Frustration always made it a bit harder to take him seriously.

“He had a plan.” _ Obviously. _

“Obviously. But what?”

John had no answer. Viggo threw his hands up and sighed. “I will never understand the minds of men. Nothing's ever good enough. They always want more." After a moment, Viggo spoke again. “Not like you John. You and me, we know our places in the world. Avi?” The lawyer, standing a few feet away, glanced up. “When will his payment be delivered?”

“Should be by tonight, Viggo. At the hotel. ” John nodded his thanks.

“Well.” He rose to his feet and turned back expectantly. Four bystanders rose with him. Bodyguards. John remained where he was. A little act of defiance to make sure Viggo understood that he didn’t own him. And his leg still hurt.

There was an awkward pause as they waited for the other to do something. Finally, Viggo sighed and buttoned his jacket.

"I'll be in touch."

And then he was alone.

He had never been sure if he liked the Tarasovs. Viggo in particular. He was always very… expressive. Though if you wanted good work in New York, the Russians were always hiring. They had a fair grip on the underworld in the city and it wouldn't surprise John if the Tarasovs became the chief power in another year or so. He was sure that he would have a hand or two in that eventual rise. A bloody hand.

The cut on his leg sent a hot lance of pain through him as he stood up. He focused his thoughts, steadied his breathing, and hid his limp as best he could. Thankfully the bus stop wasn't far, though the bus itself was late. He shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable. A baby stared at him over her mother’s shoulder. He looked away. The bus pulled up with a screeching stop and the dead-faced driver barely even looked at John as he got on. The city passed by quickly but not quickly enough. He had yet to find a form of public transportation that he actually liked. One slightly too cramped and slightly too warm ride later he was standing across the street of Aurelio's shop.

"John!" Aurelio shouted far too loud, smiling wide.

He met his outstretched hand with a firm shake. Aurelio was one of the few people in the business that John considered trustworthy. One of the fewer that he considered a friend, despite the fact that they didn’t share much more than an interest in cars and taste in drinks. But John didn’t have many friends anyway. He had never been a people person. He still didn’t know if he preferred someone completely different from him or similar enough to be twins. He solved the problem by keeping his colleagues at a professional and formal distance.

“You got here quick enough. Missed me that much?”

Tried to, at least. Some people were just too good at worming their way into others’ lives.

He allowed himself a small smile. "She's fixed?"

"Of course! John, man, have I ever let you down?"

He chose not to answer.

Aurelio led him into the shop, already chatting away about what he had to do to fix his car and how he made sure that none of the other workers touched his precious vehicle. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, it was more that Aurelio didn’t want to call Charlie and tell him that _ someone _ fucked up John’s car and now he needed a dinner reservation for seven. John took offense to that. He wasn’t so deep in the underground that he found it okay to go on murderous rampages. He had met a few of his kind who saw no problem with it and found that they left a sour taste in his mouth.

His car was perfect, as expected. There had been a literal run-in with a mark that had left a large, corpse-shaped dent on the hood and more than a few scratches. But the car was smooth once more, not a hint of that night left on it. Aurelio had worked his magic once again.

“So, John,” Aurelio started, which was never a good sign. He waggled his eyebrows which was even worse. “You pick up a lot of ladies with this car? Is that why you like it so much?”

“No.”

“You sure? Me and the boys were making bets.” ‘The boys’ avoided making eye contact. He hadn't seen them in the shop before, leading him to wonder if this was how new workers were initiated.

John sighed the sigh of a man who knew Aurelio far too well. “You bet money on this?” he whispered.

Aurelio nodded passionately, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Fine.”

He let out a triumphant shout and pointed at a group of men standing to the side. “Pay up, boys!” 

The coins clinked as they exchanged hands. No one questioned it. John shook his head. Whenever he went to see Aurelio it always seemed like his neck got a workout. He came back with a sizeable pile of glittering gold in his hands and a mischievous smile. With a wink and a gesture, he led John further into the garage to his cramped and messy office where he opened up a security box. It was already halfway full of gold coins and Aurelio set to work organizing them as he began to speak again.

“What have you been up to? We haven't seen each other much.”

“Yeah.” He paused, wondering how much more Aurelio cared to know. “Viggo’s been keeping me busy.”

“Hey, you're welcome.”

Aurelio had been the one to introduce John to the Tarasovs. He he had been all the way in Italy when Aurelio called him and said that a powerful New York family was interested in his work. A few quick apologies and one late plane ride later he and Viggo were drinking in the Continental, talking business. John was so jet lagged he had trouble focusing on what exactly was being offered. But he heard 'lots of fucking money' in there somewhere and back then those were the only words he ever really listened for. People always thought they were paying for quality but they were really paying for him to ignore his conscience for a few hours. For any man, it's a high price that needs to be paid.

"You know, you could always tell him to fuck off if he bothers you that much." Aurelio clicked his tongue. "Wouldn't recommend it but you could probably get away with it."

It was a tempting thought. "Probably shouldn't."

"Probably right. Well, look at it this way John." Aurelio closed the security box and leaned over it. “Viggo’s the one giving you the money that you give me to fix your stupid car every time someone hits it.” He smiled and held his hand out expectantly, wiggling his fingers for good measure.

John fished for his wallet in his pocket. He probably had enough in there. "How much?"

“Ah, I'm kidding. I know you’re good for it. Consider it a favour.”

"I've got the money." In fact he already had it halfway out.

Aurelio snorted and shook his head. "Believe me, I know. If you don't want to tell Viggo off you could bribe him to leave you alone."

At the front of the garage, someone’s shout for Aurelio echoed back to where they sat. “Business or pleasure?” he shouted back. Even though he made most of his money through less than legal jobs, he would still fix cars on the side simply because it was his passion. He just really loved cars.

“Pleasure,” the voice called back.

Aurelio clapped his hands together and a childlike smile lit up his face. He practically skipped to the front of the garage and John, with no desire to be left alone in the musty office, followed behind.

Where there was an open space before sat a fairly damaged car and a fairly pissed-off looking woman. The right headlight was completely shattered with an impressively angular dent where the impact occurred. The hood couldn’t close properly and the bumper was hanging off the side, just barely touching the ground. Definitely hit by another car. John was intimately familiar with the damage a human body could cause to vehicles and that wasn’t it.

The woman he was not intimately familiar with but she was familiar. It was the photographer from Central Park. The one who had smiled at him. Of course she wasn’t smiling at the moment seeing as her car looked like it needed a couple thousand dollars in repairs. But as Aurelio finished their conversation and John walked towards them, he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes and the same bright smile appear on her face again.

“Hello,” she said as he came to a stop next to her.

“Hello,” he said, slightly confused.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry?” Now he was extremely confused.

She held eye contact but fidgeted as she thought over her words. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but you seemed a little… distressed earlier today. I saw you at Central Park. I don’t know if you remember.”

“I remember.” He hesitated for a moment. “I’m better now. Thanks for asking.”

She smiled again. “That’s good.” She was a smiler, it seemed. It was a little infectious.

There was a drawn-out, awkward silence.

“What happened to your car?” He was sure he had already it figured out but he wanted to be polite. And with Aurelio in work mode, someone had to keep the customer entertained.

She sighed, blowing strands of hair out of her face. “I pulled out of my spot and was in the left lane. I was speeding up but I guess not quickly enough for the guy next to me. He tried to cut me off but ended up smashing his car into mine.” She told the story with her hands and ended it with a clap that echoed throughout the garage. “Of course he didn’t stay behind and I forgot to check his license plate so here I am. I did get a look at his face though.”

“And?”

“He looked like a smug little shit.”

John nodded. “Most drivers are.”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Does that include you?”

“Holy shit, yes,” Aurelio shouted before John could even open his mouth. He gave him a dirty look instead. “This guy is the biggest little shit I’ve ever met, I swear.” The woman laughed and failed to notice how the workers around them side-eyed Aurelio like the man had just told the devil himself that he was a giant fucking nerd.

“So.” Aurelio straightened up and pulled out his phone, already looking for the parts he would need. “Honestly? It looks a lot worse than it actually is. But it’s still going to take me a week and a half for me to get the parts in and start stitching everything back together.”

A frown appeared on her face at the length of time he mentioned. “I guess I can get my sister to drive me around… It might be a bit tricky.”

“Well, speaking of your sister, I can give you a discount because she recommended you here. As thanks for bringing me business.”

“Glad to see someone’s profiting,” she laughed.

Aurelio gave his best customer service smile. “Right. I’ve got your number so I’ll just get one of my boys to drop you off wherever you need to be.”

“I can do it.”

Aurelio and the woman turned to look at John.

“I was just about to leave. I can drop you off.”

The surprise on Aurelio’s face slowly but surely gave way to a particularly devious look. “That’s a great idea!” Someone behind John swore under their breath.

“Are you sure?” She looked between Aurelio and John, suddenly on her guard. “If you have other places to go I don’t want to stop you.”

Aurelio waved his hand in a shooing motion. “Ah, it’ll be fine. He doesn’t bite. Besides, he practically works here anyway. I’m the only reason he leaves his house.”

Another hand wave seemed to convince her. She fell into step alongside him, furiously texting on her phone before turning to look up at him. “Thanks for this.”

“Happy to help.” He stopped in front of his car, remembering his manners at the last moment. “What’s your name?”

“Oh! I’m Helen.” She stuck out her hand.

“John.” He shook it. He was rigid and uncomfortable but she smiled through it.

He gestured to his car and as they stepped in, he saw another of Aurelio’s workers give him a handful of golden coins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic. Please be gentle with the baby (me).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will not be regular because of school. I'll try to post at the end of each month but I don't want to promise anything. Apologies in advance :(

As a general rule, John tried to keep other people out of his car. It was his happy place and he was pretty sure that he spent far more time in it than his actual house. He liked being able to go out for a drive by himself and forget about whatever adrenaline-infused job he had just finished. Having another person in the car with him felt almost like an invasion of his privacy. Which is why he was questioning his own decision to let a random woman into his car and drive her to wherever it was she was taking him.

“Turn left at the next light,” the woman said.

_ Helen, that’s her name. _ He mentally chastised himself for having already forgotten.

“This is a pretty expensive car, isn’t it?” she commented, reminding him of another reason he avoided driving people around.

Small talk.

“It was a gift.” A birthday gift in fact.

"Isn’t it hard to take care of? Even with a discount Aurelio… doesn't seem cheap." John risked a glance over and saw her calculator open on her phone. There were quite a few digits displayed there.

"I make enough," he said with the practiced ease of a man who kills people for a living and is very careful with who he shares that bit of trivia with. "And you?"

“I do pretty well. I’m a photographer so it’s not very regular. I make most of my money during the bridal season. Turn right here.”

“You enjoy it though.”

“I do.”

The conversation stopped there, giving birth to an awkward silence that was somehow worse than the small talk. But he had no desire to pick it up again and so the silence reigned. For a while.

They were stopped at a light when she spoke up again. “So, John.”

_ Really? _“Yeah?”

“What _ do _ you do for a living?”

He gave a mental sigh. “A few things. Help Aurelio. Bookbinding."

“Bookbinding?”

“Bookbinding.”

“And you make money doing that?”

“Yeah.”

“Are they expensive books?”

"They're old. You have to be careful with them."

She hmm'd. "That makes sense. There are some books I've seen that are so used they’re just pages held together by string." She dangled an imaginary thread from her fingers. "It's nice to see that someone cares enough to put them back together."

That caught him off guard. She was a stark contrast to Aurelio, who only ever asked him if he had killed anyone with one of his books yet.

"They deserve a second chance," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile.

They made a few more turns in silence once again before she had him stop. They ended up on a quieter street, the buildings packed together like sardines. The one she stopped him at was painted a pastel shade of green that made it stand out from the more common greys and whites. A sign above it read 'O’Connor Photography,' with little daisies bordering the words. It was a nice enough building, well-maintained and obviously cared for.

“Thanks again for the ride.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, finding that he mostly meant it.

He watched as she got out of his car and unlocked the door to her studio, just to make sure nothing went wrong. With one last smile from her and a quick wave from him, he was able to drive off with a clear conscience and the satisfaction that comes with a job well done. Even so, he was glad it was over. It didn’t feel right, having innocent strangers sit in a seat that had held dead or dying people more than once.

* * *

A couple of days later, while and about, he found himself thinking back to the ride. And the woman. He’d forgotten her name again, it slipping from him like a morning dream. It wasn’t that important. He didn’t really need to remember it. She was hardly a threat to him, as far as he could tell. But it was still frustrating and he couldn’t quite force himself to let it go. Honestly, it was— 

An older woman bumped into John's wounded leg, breaking his stride and interrupting his thoughts. They muttered quick apologies to each other and continued on their paths. John hesitantly glanced to his side and found Marcus staring back at him, eyebrow raised and looking very much like an annoyed mother.

Marcus was a good man. Or about as good as one can be when they're an assassin. And the mother comparison was one that often crossed his mind when they talked. He was always the first and usually the only person to check in on him every two weeks or so other than Aurelio. Countless years under the table and it seemed that John had only made two trustworthy friends. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or ashamed.

“Were you listening?” Marcus asked in a tone that made it very clear he already knew the answer.

“No,” John admitted. No point in lying.

Marcus shook his head. “I said that the d’Antonio kids are in town.”

“Both?” That was news. He hadn't seen Gianna since a certain incident in a winery in Italy. There was a tiara involved. And a _ very _ drunk dove. It had been one of his more entertaining assignments.

“Both.”

John nodded. He was intricately familiar with the d’Antonios and their… sibling rivalry, to put it mildly. They were an interesting family. Gianna was nice enough but Santino had always rubbed him the wrong way. He always had something going on in his head, always looking for the next advantage he could get. No doubt the fault of their father, who was well known under the table as a man with inhuman expectations and a love of drama.

“I know you’re a smart man, John,” Marcus drawled, bringing him back to the present. “I don’t have to tell you that this is bad news.”

"You're telling me anyway."

"Because I'm hoping you'll fucking listen." He crossed in front of John, forcing him to follow the man onto a less crowded street. "The d’Antonios are sick of waiting. A turf war is the last thing we need right now, especially if a Table family gets involved. They don't give a damn what happens to us. Did I ever introduce you to Maria? Last time there was a turf war like that, she got involved and Viggo fucking— "

"What's your point, Marcus?" he jumped in, already knowing the track he was taking and doing his best to speed it up.

Marcus stopped in front of him, so suddenly that they nearly crashed. He spun around to face him and looked John in the eye. A second passed. Then two. Then four. After ten he sighed, seemingly resigned to whatever thoughts he thought he saw swirling around in there. “Just be careful,” he sighed. “We all meet our end eventually, but fighting a war that isn’t yours is no way to go.” And John had no response to that.

He hadn’t been in New York the last time there was a turf war. And the last one didn’t involve a High Table family. It was between a half dozen smaller groups, the Tarasovs being one of them. Obviously they came out on top but it came with a price. Winston had told him about injured assassins coming in day after day to the point that they would be forced to stay in the lobby because every room was filled. Then there was the dead. Charlie had never been so busy. A part of John was glad that he missed the whole mess. Even he didn’t know if he would have survived. But another part craved it. The fear. The energy. The danger.

He never wondered why Marcus worried about him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” John said, because he was still being stared at and it was starting to make him uncomfortable.

Marcus opened his mouth to deliver an undoubtedly scathing comeback but was interrupted by the chime of a door opening. He turned to look behind him, granting John a clear view of the small, furry creature that was barrelling towards them. It had the general shape of a corgi but something about it's ears and face suggested that it was a mixed breed. It didn't matter. It was adorable. Even Marcus couldn't stop a small 'oh' and a smile.

The dog continued to run straight at them and John started to wonder if it was going to crash. But it was not to be. With a quick dash to the side and and energetic bark, it looped back around them as someone shouted out.

"Moose! Come here!"

John’s head snapped up at the startlingly familiar voice. Out of a pastel green building came a woman, hair askew and looking pleadingly at the dog running around them. Her name came to him in a flash.

“Helen?”

She shifted her gaze and her face lit up as she recognized him. “Hi, John. Moose! Come on!” A rubber bone in her hand let out the most horrifying squeaking noise he’d ever heard. Despite her best attempts Moose didn’t want to listen. It ignored her completely, instead yipping circles around John and Marcus. Every so often it would stop to look up at them, rear end vibrating with unfettered joy.

It was surprisingly heavy when he picked it up. No doubt because of the all the fur. “It’s name is Moose?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s not mine. I would have picked a different name.”

He grunted in agreement. “Why is he with you?”

“I'm trying to take pictures of him.” She reached out and scratched behind Moose’s ears, causing him to go limp in John’s arms save for one of his legs. “But he’s a very naughty boy, isn’t he? Hm?” It twitched happily with each scratch to the point that it was jackhammering painfully into his chest.

“Are you talking about John or the dog?” Marcus smiled at his own crappy joke and reached out for a handshake. “I’m Marcus.” As Helen removed her hands from Moose’s ears, the dog decided to try aiming licks at John’s face. He was very successful. “I didn’t know you were a dog person, John.”

“Mmph,” John replied, trying to avoid getting dog saliva in his mouth.

"I think Moose might just be a John person," Helen added helpfully.

He gave in to the inevitable. "I'm flattered." Remarkably, Moose tasted like dog.

"He's giving you trouble?" It was Marcus' turn to pet Moose.

“He’s very energetic. It’s cute, but it’s a lot easier to take pictures of a dog that’s not running around so much. It’s hard to hold a camera steady in one hand and a toy in the other.”

Marcus nodded, taking her words in. Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face John. “You’re not busy today are you?”

“... No.”

He didn't like the smile that answer got him.

“Well,” Marcus straightened up, “I do. It was a pleasure to meet you, Helen. Be careful, John.” He put his hand on his shoulder as he faced away from her. _ “Make some friends.” _ Whispered in Russian. John gave him the dirtiest look he could manage but it didn’t phase him. He gave them one last wave and walked back the way they had come.

John turned back to Helen, puppy in his arms and frustration tangling the apology on his lips. But she still had that faint smile on her face and he really didn’t have anything else to do. There were worse ways to spend his free time. Much worse.

“Do you want help?”

* * *

The dog park was green and brilliant and not too crowded when they arrived. Even so, Helen made sure to pick a spot away from any potential distractions. There was an old maple tree, too tall to climb anymore but with leaves that let perfect little spots of sunlight hit the grass below. She surveyed her surroundings and was satisfied with what she found.

John didn’t seem to share her thoughts. His eyes wandered around the park, cold and calculating. He barely glanced at the other dogs and seemed to focus more on their owners, giving each a practiced once-over before flicking to the next. She opened her mouth to ask what he was looking for when his gaze turned to her. The cold look was gone, replaced with the mild mask of indifference that she’d started to associate with him. It was a little sad. She had been thrilled when the faintest spark of emotion showed itself that day he drove her to her studio.

She busied herself with setting up her camera, handing off the small bag of treats and toys to her new assistant. As she worked she also watched him, trying to figure out if she had made a mistake by accepting his help again. A drive was one thing. Helping her with her job was another. Regrettably, being driven around wasn’t her main source of income. Though he and the dog seemed equally taken with the other. It hurt a little. Why couldn’t Moose like her that much?

With one last twist the lens clicked into place. She took a quick photo of John and Moose to check for lighting, bringing pair out of whatever game they had been playing.

“Are you two ready?” she called out. Neither looked particularly sorry about getting distracted.

The shoot started better than she expected. Moose was naturally adorable and was a great subject to photograph when he would sit still for more than two seconds. It was a miracle he did so at all and she could attribute much of that to her new assistant. It turned out that it was much easier to get things done when she had someone to help her. John was surprisingly responsive to her directions, doing what she asked with little resistance. He didn’t offer any suggestions like she was used to but that also meant he barely disturbed her. If he didn't raise his voice every so often to get Moose's attention she might have forgotten that he was there. The dog could have learned a thing or two about proper behaviour from him.

“Have you had dogs before, John?” she asked during a short break. He was far better at getting Moose to listen than she was and it didn’t just come from their obvious affection for each other. The sharp tone he used spoke volumes about his experience with animals.

John didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered through a whole series of emotions, uplifting and painful in equal measures before the smallest of smiles lifted his lips. "I did."

Helen kept quiet, curious to see if he would say more. But he didn’t. He picked up the toy he had put down and went right back to entertaining Moose. Maybe it added to his tall, dark, and mysterious charm, but it mostly made her more curious. A prying question danced on the tip of her tongue as she weighed her options. It was tempting, so tempting. But the last thing she wanted was to scare him away. Reluctantly, she let another question take its place.

“Tell me the truth. Did you offer to help just so you could play with a puppy?”

“Of course not,” he said, not even looking at her.

“Really?” She stared pointedly at Moose, who was happily chewing on John’s hand. It was pretty adorable, she couldn’t blame him. John gave a quick, mischievous smile but didn’t try to defend himself further.

“You should be my new assistant,” she joked. “Who needs toys and treats when you’re around?”

“Glad to be of service.” He gave a little bow, pulling a surprised laugh out of her.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to quit bookbinding."

He shrugged, indifferent once again.

They resumed taking pictures. John began to talk a little, offering opinions and asking questions about what she was doing. She would answer politely and try to get more humour out of him. Sometimes it worked. Usually it didn’t. If she were to be honest with herself it wasn’t much of a change, it felt like she had just put a crack in an unbreakable fortress.

Unfortunately it didn't last as long as she would have liked. Halfway through the second round of photos, a faint buzzing started to come from John. Helen watched his face shifted ever so slightly as he read the name on his vibrating phone. She couldn’t see it from where she was but she didn’t really need to.

“If it’s important, then you should take it.”

His eyes flicked up to hers and back down to the phone. He held his position for a second, then stood up with a mumbled apology. As he walked away she heard him curtly answer the phone in a language she guessed was Russian. Whoever he was talking to and whatever they were talking about seemed to be serious business. John's entire aura changed. He stood up straighter, tenser, buzzing with an energy that she couldn't quite name. And he was looking around again. Watching. Scanning. Assessing. Absently, she noticed that the phone he had was an older one. A flip phone. Mysteries on top of mysteries.

Hardly two minutes went by but that was all it took to shut him off from her. The call ended with the loud snap of the phone closing. He dropped down next to Helen and stared off into the distance.

She made an effort to keep her voice low, gentle and soothing. “Did something happen?”

He twisted his head to stare at her. “No,” he finally said. “Just work.”

“Ah.” She nodded, pretending to understand. “Do you need to leave now?”

That seemed to bring him out of his sudden detachment, at least a little. He looked between her and Moose, who sat patiently for once in his life.

“I’ve got time.”

And so they continued in relative silence. Helen wondered what the hell just happened. John seemed to be making a point of not making any more noise than was absolutely necessary. Moose… was himself, much to her frustration and bad luck.

“A little to the right, please.”

Moose’s head tilted, following the toy hovering somewhere above her shoulder. Her and John were crouched low to the ground to bring them almost level with his face. John’s arm faltered and she felt his hand briefly brush her. Moose’s ear flicked.

That was all the warning they had before he pounced at them. He collided with Helen’s shoulder in his mad dash, jarring the camera out of her hands and sending it to the ground with a sharp crack. John swore as Moose tore the toy out of his grasp with a piercing squeak. Said squeaking slowly faded into the distance as he decided to take his prize on a little romp around the park.

Helen absently shouted for John to go after him as she scrambled for her camera. There was a soft tinkling of glass as she picked it up, confirming her fears. The lens had shattered. Not completely, but there were multiple cracks that spiderwebbed across the glass. She detached it from the camera, causing a few more shards to fall into her lap. The camera itself was thankfully undamaged. Which meant she would only have to spend a couple thousand on a new lens instead of five thousand on a camera and lens. Small miracles.

John came jogging back, rogue puppy under his arm. There must have been a look on her face that said what had happened because he stopped a good four feet or so away from her with something resembling a guilty expression.

“Broken?”

She held it up as an answer. He took it, carefully, as she began to pick up the pieces of glass that had fallen out of it. The last thing she needed was Moose or another dog eating them.

The shards went into a nearby trash can. She hoped the racoons wouldn’t be too hungry that night. John remained where he was, studying her lens with a curious intensity. Turning it over, either examining the damage or reading the small text that wrapped around parts of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up as she moved to take the lens back.

“Don’t worry about it, John. It was Moose.” She shot the dog a half-hearted glare.

“I got distracted.” He was very insistent about it, handing her Moose instead of the lens. He turned it over again, but this time his guarded eyes didn’t leave hers.

“I mean it. I can get another.” She held her hand out again and he reluctantly gave it back to her. “We were mostly done anyway. And you have work to do, don’t you?”

He looked to the lens one more time. “Yeah. I should go.”

“Then I won’t keep you. Thank you so much for your help. I mean it.” She gave him her warmest smile and held out her hand one last time.

He frowned slightly, then reached out to shake it.

“The leash, John.”

“Oh.”

“But that works too.”

She waved goodbye to him and started on her way back home, Moose in tow. But she didn’t get more than ten steps before she turned to watch him go. Even the way he walked had changed. Not tense, she finally realized, but primed for something. Like a bow tightly strung. Like a loaded gun. Like a lit fuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: there is an actual artist named Helen O'Connor. I only learned this after I decided that it sounded like a good name. Whoops.  
This chapter brought to you by that one interview where Keanu said "tee hee hee puppies! :D"


	4. UPDATE

Hello, so sorry I've been quiet and for psyching you out with this update and not actual story. It's currently midterms and exams so I've been a little swamped with studying and felt awful about no communication from my side.

So.

I've got a couple of things on the 28th, and one single exam sometime from December 5th to 20th, I don't know when yet. It's not very helpful, I know. So about all I can say is that **the next chapter will be uploaded somewhere from mid to late December**. This update chapter will be deleted and replaced with actual words. Again, I'm so sorry for not communicating this earlier and faking some of you out with this. Unfortunately, all I've really got as an apology is an awful AU that I came up with, so here it is.

Upon discovering that John is an assassin, Helen no longer wants anything to do with him and cuts off all contact. This causes John to go insane. Stalking her, calling her, begging her, wanting her so badly he threatens anyone she talks to, and they're not idle threats. Anyone she tries to date after him ends up dead on her doorstep. He's obsessed. Helen doesn't feel safe so she gets in contact with certain people and hires Marcus as a bodyguard. Or maybe he volunteers himself. Marcus tries to reason with John but he can't, he knows he can't, it's a last-ditch attempt to save his friend. But there's only one way a story of unforgivable men can end. After all, it's all they know how to do.

Yeah, it made cry-laugh when I thought of it.

Anyway, sorry again, I haven't given up on this fic after I've spent so much time thinking about it.


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